She Walks in Beauty
by Aislinn Haligh
Summary: PeterSusan incest with a few moments of EdmundLucy Chapter 1: Like the Night: I gaze at the silver light drowning her features, and I believe that she is even more beautiful than in daylight. Who can see the moon with the sun blinding them?


_**She Walks in Beauty**_

Chapter 1: Like the Night

"_SHE walks in beauty, like the night"_

Born in the day was my brother. One glance at him and you could see the sun in his stature. Golden hair and azure eyes like the summer. Jovial he was, and always will be. His magnificence has no bounds, and all love him as though he were the god Apollo himself. When angered he burns with a fury that blinds, yet his smile remains gentle. His touch is but a flutter upon the skin. He is hope, and dawn. High King Peter is new birth to Narnia, and it is he that is their day.

Of winter she came long before I. My mother once said it was at the height of the moon when she took her first cry. Her midnight locks, against her alabaster skin strike one as the celestial moon rising over a calm ocean. The lights of the heavens can be seen in her deep eyes, the universe unfolds behind them. Quiet and serene, the perfection of grace and placidity she always is. Yet like the night, so calm and still, terror lies in the shadows, much like her temper. When it strikes, unexpected, it is like a nightmare, which one begs to wake from. Queen Susan the Gentle, my sister, is the dream that I wish to be.

Each on their throne, they reign in balance, for how can day survive without its night? What is Winter without the hope of Summer? I grow jealous of their bond, their relations. She is the Serena to his Apollo, and I am nothing more than a child they care for. My envy does not last however, for I cannot hold such horrors in my heart when I see them, hand in hand as they retreat down the halls when they believe no one is the wiser.

There are moments when I wake in the evening from a dream I sometimes see her walking. No, not walking, but gliding across the stone paths in the gardens. I gaze at the silver light drowning her features, and I believe that she is even more beautiful than in daylight. Who can see the moon with the sun blinding them?

My sister, my mother, my friend. She is all these things with a grace and beauty that is just Susan. Gazing upon her appearance now, I truly believe she that if she is not the moon dressed in human flesh, than she must be a fallen star that has come to light up our lives. Edmund believes her to be an angel at times, I tell him that is silly.

From the window, framed in twilight's radiance I watch her, mysterious in her gate and her looks. I see her smile, and it brightens outshining the stars. It is a part of the sun that she carries with her. Only when eve meets the dawn does it shine.

Lo, here comes the sun, and so early too. She attempts to flee from him. Grabbing her wrist, she flinches, burned from the touch and the heat. Quickly he turns her around, holding her to himself. A gentle smile plays upon my lips, for I have seen it all before. Their voices rise on the evening breeze, carrying words I am not meant to hear to my window. But I am all curiosity and childishness. I cannot keep myself from being attentive to their secret whisperings. It is my sin.

Framed by the sill of my eastern window, I let their hushed voices lull me into a fairytale. Then all is quiet, and I hear no sound. I am worried; for this is not the routine I have grown accustomed to.

It started all the same as it always did. The moon fleeing the sky for the sun, yet for a moment he asked her to stay, without words. Weak she accepts as he holds her to his chest, his strong heartbeat playing against her ear. This is where silence reigns, when all they need is touch and neither dream to cross the line stitched between them by blood and duty. Each meeting the line grows fainter and fainter. Conversations not meant for my young ears were discussed, and emotions of the highest order radiated from them.

I look out with a heavy heart to see her alone. The salty breeze pales her cheeks with its light kisses. Tears shimmer in her eyes and I cannot help but to want for her, call out her name, and comfort her in the manner that a sister should. In silence I remain, gazing from afar as though I am a reader in this novel they have made.

She turns towards me. I slink back into the shadows with her weary face of sorrow burned into my mind. There must have been something that I had missed. A change had occurred and I was none the wiser.

Heavy foot falls resound through the empty hall as a door creaks shut. The door open and closes a few more times. Crawling into bed quickly, I pull the covers up to my chin, pretending I have slept the last few hours. The familiar calloused hand brushes the hair out of my face. Warm gentle lips skim my forehead, and still I feel his presence lingering.

Here he remains with me in my faux slumber until the scuffing of dainty slippers echoes from behind the closed door. The creaking of the handle disturbs him, and he dashes to the shadows of the corner where the curtains of my window will hide him.

An angel has entered my room, gowned in silver light and evening dreams. Grace she embodies as she approaches my bed where I still lay with an eye cracked open. This routine is familiar, and now I know why the practiced scene of the gardens had changed.

The space next to me becomes occupied. A feather light arm wraps around me, and petal soft lips brush the crown of my head. I fake a slumbered mumble, and turn to bury myself in her, giving her my comfort intentionally, though she believes it is an act of chance.

When I feel her breaths become even, I chance a look before I am lulled into Morpheus' realm myself. The tears have stained her cheeks, leaving a trail of woe behind. I move closer to her in hopes that I can force what dreams she has to be of a better quality. Lifting my head, I see the figure emerge from the shadows. He looks at me, noticing my wakeful state and holds a finger to his lips. I nod in understanding before laying my head back upon my soft pillow.

As my vision blurs, I see him venture to the edge of the bed my sister sleeps upon. Gazing upon her with an expression as if it were the last time, he lays next to her, laying his arm upon hers so that he may lace is fingers between her own. It was a moment full of love and sorrow that spoke without words. I felt comforted by their presence, knowing now what the morning would bring. Looking above the sleeping form of my sister, I was met with his small smile and bright eyes.

"Go to sleep, Lu. Save goodbyes for the morning."

I wake in the morning to find warm caress on my brow and a pair of arms wrapped around me. The sun is barely above the horizon, and just peeking in through my window. A small ray shines upon Susan, whose eyes are full of crystalline tears. I hold her close to me, noticing the absence of Peter from the scene. His place has long been cold, and so like it, I find my heart.

We hold each other for an eternity, before Susan brushes a kiss upon my brow and leaves my chambers for her own. It is her duty to see the soldiers off on their quest. I envy her not.

Dressing myself in a fitted gown, I sneak by Edmund's room and gently knock upon his door. The servants are busy packing his belongings in haste. Quirking a brow, I run to him, wrapping my arms about his commanding form.

"Say not that you are leaving too!" I cry, burying my head in his chest.

"Lu. It is very sudden. You must be brave for Susan," he says in a reasonable tone.

Nodding my head, I decide that I will join Susan in seeing off the warriors of our land. If she has a cross to bear, then the least I can do is to share her burden.

Seeking her presence is easier said then done. Searching every room, I come to her chambers for the second time on my journey. There she sits, staring into the mirror of her vanity with a fake smile gracing her beautiful features. In her hands is a threadbare shirt. I recognize it as one Peter wore when we first came to Narnia. On the surface of the bureau is her handkerchief.

"Su…" I say calmly, the sorrow trying to breakthrough, "they are departing soon."

Rising from her seat, she lays the gray fabric on her bed, and tucks the small token of hers in a closed fist.

"Yes. Let us say our farewells."

She takes my hand, and we make our way to the outer courtyard to bid them luck and a safe return.

I marvel at her composure. Tears threaten to stream down my face, and yet her eyes are dry. Behind the veiled orbs is the sorrow that only those that know her well can see. We embrace one another in turn. It is a ritual that has become so familiar, and yet still painful. She kisses Edmund's cheek, whispering into his ear to take care and make sure Peter does not kill himself. He chuckles at this and promises that he will.

The High King waits by his steed ready for mounting. Holding out his arms, she walked into them with the grace and dignity of a woman three times her age. She rests her head upon his broad chest as her hand lies upon his heart. Lifting her head with one of his calloused hands, he bestows the gentlest kiss I have ever witnessed on her brow. Letting go she watching him mount, but I see that she has given something to his squire. I can only be sure that it is the handkerchief that she had brought with her.

Trumpets blare, and the thunderous sound of hooves drown out the melancholy. I look to her for strength now that we are alone without them. A single tear slips down her cheek, speaking to my heart volumes of words. Reaching for her hand, we sob together with sadness, but also with hope in our hearts for their return.

Daylight passes in what only feels like a moments time. The moon now high in the heavens shines down upon the blooming gardens. I sit at my window, wondering if she would appear tonight.

I almost give up waiting for her. My head begins to droop as slumber wraps me in her blanket. The waves upon the shore are my lullaby. Through dreamy eyes I see a figure, a glow in silvery light. She flows like water across the stone ground. I see something being held to her chest. It is not an object of beauty, torn and threadbare. The colour has clearly faded over time. Recognizing it as the shirt she had in her chambers, I lean my head against the frame.

She stares up at the moon, and I wonder if our brothers are doing the same. I feel as though she is communicating to Peter in her element.

Her stroll continues, and I am reminded of a phrase that Peter once told me when we watched her together one night. The memory plays so clear even in my foggy state.

"_She walks in beauty… like the night."_


End file.
